


there'll be a golden ladder reaching down

by lucifucker



Series: the man comes around [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Dad Gabriel Reyes, Developing Relationship, Found Families, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Romance, Young Jesse McCree, dad jack morrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifucker/pseuds/lucifucker
Summary: The day he finds out Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes are dead, Jesse McCree almost drinks himself to deathThe day he meets Hanzo Shimada it’s like the cover’s been lifted off the sun.





	there'll be a golden ladder reaching down

The day he finds out Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes are dead, Jesse McCree almost drinks himself to death. 

 

It’s been five years since he left. No-one calls. No one pages his communicator. 

 

He’s in New York, walking through Times Square in cognito one second, and the next every screen is lit up. Breaking news, explosion, Overwatch. He’s rooted to the spot along with the rest of Manhattan, grief clogging his throat, surrounded on all sides by two photos, two names, two ranks. 

 

Commander Gabriel Reyes

 

Commander John Francis Morrison 

 

The world stands still. Every face, every soul frozen in shock, in fear, in mourning. As moments pass, the people around him begin to cry, reading about it on their phones or watching on the televisions, the entire city sobs for its lost heroes. 

 

Jesse stumbles back to his hotel, opens the minibar in the corner, and drinks everything inside. 

 

He remembers very little from that night. He knows that he doesn't cry, he knows he hurls at some point but doesn't stop, he knows that eventually he blacks out with his head in the toilet. He knows that when he wakes up, he keeps drinking, and does the same the time after that. 

 

He knows that eventually, when he runs out of liquor and his body finally gives out, it's Genji who finds him, splayed on the floor, barely breathing and unable to move. Genji who drags him back to the bathroom and forces him to vomit over and over and over until he finally does cry, just like the rest of the world, just like all the people who didn’t know them the way he did. 

 

“You idiot.” Genji hisses at him afterward, fingers curled anything but gently in his hair, holding him so tight Jesse thinks he might break, but how can you break something that’s already broken? “You fucking idiot.” 

 

“They’re dead.” Jesse sobs, clutching Genji’s arm with desperate fingers, drunk out of his mind, every inch of him shaking and shivering. “I didn’t say goodbye.” There’s a long, long silence, and then the hands on him soften their touch, the fingers in his hair stroke over his scalp. 

 

“Oh,” He murmurs, pressing his cheek against Jesse’s head, “Oh, _ani_.” 

 

Jesse eventually falls asleep in Genji’s arms, and when he wakes he’s in bed, there’s a glass of water and an ibuprofen on the nightstand, and a note in Genji’s flowing script. 

 

_Don’t you dare do this again._

 

He packs his shit up, and hauls out, leaves the note on the table and doesn’t look back. He drifts, untethered, with nothing left to anchor him to what he once had, and for two years that’s all he does. No-one calls. No-one looks for him, or if they do, they don’t do a very good job. He gets used to it, the hollow feeling of being alone becomes natural, and eventually, he stops thinking about his life in terms of who will be in it and starts thinking like he did in Deadlock again. Lone wolf. Single soldier. Last man standing. 

 

But when his communicator chirps with a message from Winston, a recall, years later, he doesn’t hesitate. 

 

He just accepts. 

 

 

_—_

 

_He’s about to turn eighteen when Reyes kidnaps him instead of killing him, offers him a new life that Deadlock can’t touch. It’s impossible to believe._

_“Call it what you want.” Reyes says, voice light, lays the paperwork on the table and puts the key to Jesse’s handcuffs next to it. “New leaf, redemption, absolution.” He shrugs, takes the seat across from Jesse, crosses tanned arms over his chest and relaxes into his chair. “I call it a second chance.”_

_He takes the job assuring himself it’ll never change him. He’ll always be rotten inside, no matter what Reyes says, and no amount of do-gooding is going to make up for the blood on his hands and the misery that he’s left in his wake. He tells himself he’ll do it till they kick him out, and they’ll definitely kick him out eventually._

_That’s his first mistake._

_Upon meeting Captain Jack Morrison, he makes his second. Morrison is tall, and strong, and unshakable, a paragon of virtue and dedication known the world over for his heroic deeds and Captain American standard of conduct. Jesse knows what he looks like, a scrawny southern kid with too much bravado and not enough muscle, coming in from the streets to muss up the good name of Overwatch. It’s impossible to miss the way Jack’s expressions shutters at the sight of him, closing off as he averts his gaze. But noticing isn’t the mistake. It’s thinking that look is judgment. It’s not realizing that it’s something very different._

_It takes a few weeks, and a lot of attitude on his part, before he realizes his error(s)._

_Weeks of lashing out at Morrison every chance he gets, and being chewed out for it after by Reyes. He smokes inside when no-one’s looking and gets caught anyway, tries to sneak out three times and is waylaid twice by Reyes and once by Morrison, one offering their assurance that he could be saved, the other reminding him of the alternative to his choice to join Blackwatch, the maximum security prison for people like him, people with a bounty on their heads the size of Texas._

_After that last one he starts to wonder what the fuck is going on, because the words Morrison’s saying are brutal and threatening, but he’s speaking the softest McCree’s ever heard him before, and it gives him pause enough to come back all on its own. (Reyes, on the other hand, had had to ply him back with offers of cigars and a retribution he couldn’t possibly achieve.)_

_So when he walks past Reyes’ door on his way to the bathroom one and sees it's ajar, he can’t help but eavesdrop just a little. He’s only human, after all._

_Creeping forward, bare feet all but silent on the carpet, he sidles up to the door and crouches down, peering inside, and perking up when he hears Morrison’s voice._

_“He’s just a kid, Gabe.” The opening’s large enough that Jesse can see him, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Reyes pressed up against his back, arms circling Morrison’s muscled waist. “He’s_ **seventeen** _, he’s not even old enough to drive an autocar, and he’s already—He’s hurt so many—“ McCree’s stomach clenches against his will, and he grits his teeth against a wave of anxiety which threatens to topple him._

_“He’s done wrong.” Reyes cuts him off, presses his face against the back of Morrison’s neck. “But he can change. I know he can. He just needs a push in the right direction.” Morrison nods, swallowing thickly, and grasps at Reyes’ arm._

_“We have to do right by him.” He says, fiercely, looking straight ahead. “He’s so young, and he’s been taught so much wrong. We have to—“_

_“Raise him.” Morrison turns, abruptly, meeting Reyes’ eyes, and Reyes looks right back, expression stone-cold serious. “Like he’s our own, Jack. He’s been through too much for anything less.”_

_Morrison nods and he’s making that face, again, the same face he makes when he looks at McCree, and he backs away, feeling as though he’s seen something he shouldn’t have. They can’t be serious. They’ll change their minds. They must._

_(Mistake number three.)_

_It’s not till later, after he’s spent some time around that look of Jack Morrison’s, that he recognizes it for what it is: sorrow._

 

_—_

 

The day he meets Hanzo it’s like the cover’s been lifted off the sun. Jesse can finally see again. 

 

They shake hands and Jesse feels something warm and electric unfurl in his gut, holds on a little longer than is strictly professional because he can’t seem to get himself to let go. 

 

“Lovely to meet ya, Hanzo.” He manages, praying his voice is as smooth as he wants it to be. He meets eyes so dark brown they may as well be black, watches one thick eyebrow raise as the other man takes him in. 

 

“McCree.” This gorgeous, beautiful, heavenly thing says, and Jesse’s never been so fired up to hear his name on another man’s lips. He realizes, belatedly, that he forgot to let go of the archer’s hand, and does so, missing the warmth of skin against skin more than he thought possible. Hanzo turns to his brother and says something in Japanese, and Jesse curses himself inwardly for never taking Genji up on that offer to learn. Genji’s shoulders shake slightly with laughter, and he claps Hanzo on the back and responds in kind, squeezing Hanzo's shoulder. 

 

When they leave for their pre-planned practice, Jesse asks Athena to translate for him, and her response shakes him to his core. 

 

_"You didn’t tell me he was beautiful."_

_“Surprise!"_

 

_—_

 

_Knowing what their intentions are, having spied on them as he has, by his eighteenth birthday Jesse's allowed Reyes and Morrison to get a little closer. He by no means believes they’re going to ‘raise’ him, he’s a grown ass man, but they seem to mean well, so he stops throwing barbs at everything Morrison says and acting out just to piss Reyes off. There’s almost a comradely there, now. He even lets them call him ‘Jesse’. Things are actually going well, strange as it is to admit when six months ago he was turning tricks with Ash and murdering innocent people._

_But he’s just deadeyed for the first time since leaving Deadlock, and his world is ending._

_He can’t move. He can’t speak. It’s like he’s frozen, like a block of ice, staring at the seven bodies on the ground, wishing with all his might he could make them get back up. He shouldn’t have done it, he knows he shouldn’t have done it, but the alley was a dead end and they had **bombs** , they were going to kill Reyes, they were going to kill Reyes, and Morrison, and everyone else and there was no time and he _ **_couldn’t miss_ ** _\--_

_“Jesse."_

_They’re going to hate him. All of them, they’re going to hate him, they’re supposed to be_ **helping** _people, not doing_ **this** **_—_ **

_“Jesse, look at me.”_

_He turns toward the voice, and Morrison's there, right there beside him on the rooftop, Morrison's putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in against his chest, resting a hand over the side of his head and turning his gaze away from the ground, from the blood, from what he’s done._

_“You’re alright.” His voice is deep, and soothing, and a little desperate, and Jesse sinks into it, closes his eyes and lets it wash over him. There’s a thump, behind them, but Jack doesn’t move, so he doesn’t either, and a second later a warm body is pressed against his other side, fingers curling around his arm and squeezing tight. “You’re gonna be alright.”_

_“I can’t—miss.” Jesse stutters, shivers, waits for Reyes to scold him for lying, waits for whatever it is lies in store for him. “I’m—I’m sorry.” Reyes shakes his head._

_“No, mijo.” He murmurs, fiercely, gloved hand fisting in the sleeve of Jesse’s shirt, ”You did great. We’d have bit it without you, no question.” He shakes his head, and drags Jesse closer, holds him tight. “I knew when I picked you up you were special, I just didn’t know how.”_

_He sits there, shaking, but safe, sandwiched between them, protected on all sides, until eventually he can breathe again. They walk back to the transport together, but Morrison doesn’t let go of him, and Reyes’ gaze doesn’t leave him until they’re safely back at base._

 

 

_—_

 

It’s harder sometimes than others, coming back. He really likes the new kids, and seeing Reinhardt still chugging after all these years, seeing Fareeha all grown up, seeing Angela for the first time in three years, it warms him, deep down, somewhere that hasn’t been reached in longer than he’d like to admit. 

 

But it also stings. Ana, Jack, Gabe, their absence weighs on him as he walks the halls of Gibraltar, at night when he’s alone in his quarters, at dinner and during sims. He hears Gabe’s voice telling him to tighten up, watch his back, Jack’s reminding him to think, not to plunge in headfirst, Ana echoes around him, asks after his arm, his sleep, his gun. 

 

He loves his team, they’re his family, but they’re not steady, they never have been, and Overwatch is not _steady_ , not anymore, not like it was. The comfort he’s found could disappear tomorrow and he’ll be left alone, again. It’s hard to believe anyone would call, considering the last three years of silence.  

 

The hardest part is that no-one _talks_ about it, not that Jesse _wants_ to talk about it, but it feels wrong to go about his day, every day, acting like nothing happened. Like there isn’t a two-man hole in their lives. Like this is _normal._

 

He’s ruminating on this, smoking on a bench on the balcony by his room, watching the moon rise, full and glowing, in the sky, when Hanzo finds him. 

 

He stands still behind Jesse for a minute, just sharing the view, before coming to sit beside him on the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking up at the stars. 

 

“You are quiet.” He says, voice soft, unassuming, and Jesse shrugs. 

 

“Am I?” Maybe if he plays dumb he can avoid talking about his feelings. It’s worked before. 

 

“You were quiet at dinner.” That’s true. Mei had been showing Hana and Lucio old photos, flipping through them on her tablet as they all giggled at the younger faces of their now-aged teammates. Jesse’d managed to look over just as one of him, Gabe, and Jack popped up, all looking sourly at the camera, Gabe’s hand halfway to flipping Winston off, Jack’s arms crossed, Jesse between them, thumbs in his belt loops, glaring openly. 

 

That was more than enough for him to slip into silent brooding, but he hadn’t meant to make it that obvious.

 

“Sorry.” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and beginning to stand, but Hanzo’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

 

“Do not apologize.” The archer’s posture was relaxed, his expression sincere. “Genji has told me some of what you lost. I cannot imagine this has been easy.” 

 

Jesse looks at him, at this man he’s known for all of four months, this cupid from another land who came and shot him full of little pink arrows as soon as he showed up, this older brother who’s known grief much like Jesse has, and sits back down. 

 

He tells Hanzo about Jack, and Gabe, about his arm and his gun, about growing up in the midwest and coming to Blackwatch at seventeen, about making up for the father he never had by finding two more. He talks about the relief when he realized they weren’t going anywhere and the grief when they did, about going it alone for so many years without backup, so long, in fact, that he forgets what it’s like to have someone watch his back. He rambles on and on until eventually it’s like he’s barely talking to anyone, almost like he’s talking to himself. 

 

Hanzo, for his part, stays silent, listening intently, legs crossed beneath him, until Jesse says something that makes him tense.  

 

“It’s just tough, sometimes, believin’ that it’ll still be around tomorrow. After everything….everything that happened, it’s hard to trust that everyone won’t just….disappear again.” He shrugs. “I was alone for…a long time, and it feels damn good to have the fam back, but…” _But what if they leave again._

 

Hanzo moves, abruptly, reaches out and wraps strong archer’s fingers around his shoulder, pulls him back down out of his thoughts. His eyes are hard. His 

 

“I am with you, Jesse McCree.” 

 

There’s no hint of uncertainty, no placating tone. This is not a reactionary statement, something meant to console him in his hurt or wash away his fears. Hanzo says it like he’s stating a fact, like he’s reading it from the dictionary, like it’s the movement of the planets and the gravity in the earth. 

 

And Jesse….believes him. 

 

 

—

 

 

_“It’s for you, son.” Jack’s taken to calling him ‘son’ as of late, which Jesse can’t say he minds, since he’s taken to calling Jack ‘Jack’ instead of ‘Captain’ or ‘Morrison’. Jack in turn doesn’t seem to mind much either. It’s been five years since he joined Blackwatch, there’s not much they won’t say to each other anymore._

_He looks down at the box. It’s cardboard, nothing special to see here, but when he takes it he finds it’s heavier than he expected, harder to hold. His gaze flicks up to Gabriel and Jack, standing over him with looks of mixed excitement and consternation on their faces, and he shrugs and opens it, mouth falling open when he lays eyes on what’s inside._

_It’s a gun, but it’s not **just**_   _a gun. It’s the most beautiful gun he’s ever seen. The thick barrel and pistol-like shape don't distract from the unmistakable round chambers of the revolver, its handle inlaid with some deep, dark wood, maybe mahogany. He picks it up, and the weight of it in his hand is like coming home, it’s the perfect balance, the perfect size, the perfect everything._

_“Dad—“ He starts, and then cuts off abruptly as he realizes what he’s just said. Gabe chuckles and Jack flushes deep crimson and looks at the floor, hands clasped behind him but still obviously fidgeting in spite of his best efforts._

_“It’s called Peacekeeper.” He mumbles at the ground, looking almost embarrassed. “We figured—you ought to have something—something of your own, other than the clothes on your back.”_

_Jesse turns Peacekeeper over in his hands, looking around and realizing that there’s a reason they brought him to the practice rooms to receive this gift. He checks the cylinder, clicks it into place, and fires six shots in rapid succession into the dummy down range of them. Each shot lands somewhere in the dummy’s chest, the precision exquisite, the recoil easy to work around._

_He turns around and faces the two men before him, blows smoke away from the barrel and tries for an easy grin. He can tell from their faces that he doesn’t come off as relaxed as he’d intended._

_“Thanks, guys.” He manages, cradling the gun close to his chest in a rare display of childish excitement, and Jack actually smiles, eyes crinkling, mouth shifting into a comfortable smirk._

_“You’re welcome.” He replies, clapping a hand over his shoulder and steering him toward the mess hall for dinner. Gabe throws an arm around his shoulders and grins, ruffling his shaggy hair._

_“That was some good shooting, mijo, when are you gonna give me that kinda accuracy in the field, huh?” Jesse laughs and elbows him in the ribs, and Jack’s still wearing that same satisfied smirk, no trace of sadness in his eyes._

_He thinks this is the happiest he’s ever been._

 

 

_—_

 

The first time Hanzo tells Jesse he loves him, he’s completely plastered. 

 

They’re on an undercover mission in London, tracking down leads on what Talon’s next move will be, and after a long day of finding absolutely nothing, Hanzo drags him to a sushi bar and orders them a bottle of sake each. 

 

“Ain’t that a little much, darlin’?” Jesse asks, and Hanzo laughs in his face.

 

“Scared, cowboy?” There’s mischief in his eyes and an easy grin on his face and Jesse’s so intoxicated by that look on the archer’s face that he barely feels the burn of the sake down his throat. 

 

“Just cautious, darlin’.” He replies, and it’s easy, it’s so easy, to sit here with Hanzo and drink more than their share of warm, comfortable liquor. It’s so easy to smile and laugh and be himself around Hanzo, to bet Hanzo he can eat more wasabi and immediately fail miserably when the taste hits his nose.

 

It’s easy to love Hanzo, in a way it’s never been.

 

They make it back to the hotel after two bottles each and definitely too much edamame, each doing his part to support the other as they take the elevator to their floor. Hanzo leans on him heavily, warm and relaxed at Jesse’s side, the first steady presence in his life since—well, since a long time ago, and Jesse prays to whatever god is listening that he doesn’t disappear, too. 

 

Giggling, stumbling, they make their way into the room. Hanzo runs inside as soon as Jesse gets the door open and tries to do a wall jump but falls short and knocks a lamp over instead. He lands in a heap on the floor, laughing so hard tears leak out of his eyes, and Jesse clings to the doorframe, hunched over, chest heaving as he struggles for breath. 

 

Eventually, he scoops Hanzo off the floor and deposits him on the bed, and it’s mundane, it’s a thing they’ve done a thousand times before, but Hanzo bounces on the bed and smiles up at him and sighs;

 

“Oh, how I love you.” There’s no uncertainty in his voice, nothing calculating in his expression. It’s maybe the most open and honest he’s seen Hanzo be, looking up at him with mirth and adoration mixing on his face. 

 

“Darlin’.” Jesse murmurs, wishes his voice wouldn't shake when he says it but you can’t win them all and he’s just made the fucking lottery. Hanzo’s fingers curl in the front of his shirt, tug him down till Jesse's tumbling onto the bed on top of him, pressed close, still grinning that beautiful, comfortable grin. 

 

“ _Kichōna_.” He whispers, conspiratorially, and closes the gap between their lips, cups the back of Jesse’s head and kisses him deep and slow, just like he shoots, every inch of his body poured into a single purpose. 

 

As first kisses go, Jesse’d give it a ten out of ten. Top of the line. 

 

Happiest he’s ever been.

 

 

—

 

 

_He doesn’t remember much about the day he loses his arm. He knows they were on a standard Blackwatch op; get in, get the information, get out. He knows that it seemed too easy, but he didn’t mention it because he didn’t think it could possibly go as bad as it did._

_He knows that when Gabe clears the rubble off him and pulls him out of the ruins, he can’t feel his arm._

_He must have passed out, because when he wakes up he’s in the medical bay of the transport they’d taken here, and Moira is hovering over him with golden healing energy seeping out of her fingers into his shoulder. The smug, calculating expression she normally wears, however, is gone, replaced with something foreign for her face, fear, or maybe worry? He can’t tell until he looks down and sees_ **why** _she’s healing his shoulder._

_His left arm is destroyed, bone and sinew hanging limp at the elbow, hand nowhere to be seen, blood flowing sluggishly from beneath the tourniquet that’s wrapped around his bicep. It’s a jagged, ruined thing, horrific to look at and even worse to feel, and he feels himself start to panic, start to hyperventilate. Moria doesn’t help by pulling out a bandsaw and telling him, albeit less clinically than she would normally, that they’re going to have to amputate it._

_Then the panic takes him over, and he can’t sit up, can’t stand, but he can thrash, and scream, and beg until the cows come home, until she leaves and lets him die in peace with what’s left of his arm still attached, until—_

_Until strong hands wrap around his shoulders, pinning him down, and a familiar voice starts speaking in his ear, shaky and afraid, but still there, still steady, still grounding._

_“It’s alright, mijo.” Gabe whispers, wraps an arm around his chest to keep him still and curls the fingers of his free hand into Jesse’s grimy, sweat-soaked hair. “You’re gonna be alright, but we have to do this.” He doesn’t know what he says in reply, knows that it’s probably some endless string of ‘please’s and ‘don’t’s, but can never really remember what exact words he used._

_He passes out again, thankfully, when Moira makes the cut, and doesn’t come to again until they’re landing the transport and beginning to load out. Vaguely, he registers that his is not the only gurney, remembers that there were other agents with them, thinks to wonder if Genji made it out alright, before a voice booms across the airstrip._

_“Where is he?” Anger, fear, desperation color the tone of the familiar voice, but Jesse’s too delirious to place it. “Where the_ **hell is my son**? _” The crowd shifts, some by choice, some by force, and Jesse watches as Jack strides forward and then stops dead in his tracks, determination and fury mixing across his features as he takes in Jesse’s form on the pallet, the blood staining his left side, the empty space where his arm used to be._

_“Jack—“ Gabe starts, but he cuts off as the other man moves forward, falls to his knees at Jesse’s bedside and reaches out shaking fingers to stroke an errant lock away from his forehead. Wordlessly, Jack gathers Jesse up in his arms, and turns on his heel away from Moira and the transport, cradling him against his chest as he walks toward the watchpoint, toward Angela and her superior healing technology, toward Torbjorn and the arm he started working on as soon as they got the comm that Jesse had lost his._

_Jesse doesn’t know any of this, of course. Jesse knows very little, at this moment, except that Jack’s chest is so warm beneath his cheek, that Jack’s arms are firm, and strong around him. That, at least for the moment, he’s safe._

 

 

_—_

 

“Darlin’.” Jesse pleads, taking his hat off and rubbing a hand through his hair as Hanzo slams their door shut in his face. “Sweetheart, honeybee, I’m sorry.” He receives no response, so Jesse leans forward and presses his forehead to the door. “Hanzo, c’mon, it ain’t that big a deal—“ The door whips open, and Jesse almost loses his balance, but catches himself on the frame, looks up to find Hanzo’s beautiful, perfect, furious face glaring at him. He growls something fast and angry in Japanese that Jesse can’t quite track. “Sugarplum, I’m learnin’, but I ain’t learnin’ that fast.” 

 

“You could have _died_.” Hanzo hisses, pokes a finger at the center of his chest hard enough that Jesse almost stumbles backward. “You disappeared, without warning, and turned off your communicator. You _recklessly_ went off on your own and cut those Talon agents off from behind, and _yes,”_ His fingers curl iron-tight in the front of Jesse’s shirt as he nods. “It was the smart thing to do. We saved hundreds of civilians this day, and no small number of those people live as a direct result of your _stupid, idiotic_ actions.” Hanzo lets Jesse go, rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “But, Jesse…” The anger’s fading now, at least some of it; his shoulders are starting to slump, some of the exhaustion of the day is beginning to catch up with him.

 

“Han…” He manages, but doesn’t know what else to say, and Hanzo exhales a deep, pained breath.

 

“I have only just found you.” He says, and his voice is even, but there’s a wetness beginning to cover his eyes, and his jaw is tighter than it normally is. “I almost _didn’t_ find you, today, because you turned your comm off. I would not change any part of you, not your will to do good or your impulsive, ridiculous actions. I love you more than I thought it possible to love another.” Jesse gives into the temptation to reach out, wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist and lets out a silent sigh of relief when the archer doesn’t push him away, curls his fingers around the back of his neck, instead, pulls him closer. “But…I cannot lose you. It would—“ He presses his face against Jesse’s shoulder, for a second, and shakes his head again. “It would destroy me.”

 

They’re silent, for a long moment, Hanzo’s frame trembling just slightly in Jesse’s arm, Jesse at a loss for how to respond, until the gunslinger manages to form two words together, whispered into the crook of Hanzo’s neck. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He bites his lip, and pulls Hanzo closer, wraps his arms fully around him so they’re chest to chest, waist to waist, as close as they can be with their clothes on. “I’m sorry, honey, I’ll—“ He’ll what? He’ll try to be better? He’ll stop doing stupid things to save good, innocent people? He’ll stick with the team when they’re out in the field? He can’t lie to Hanzo. Everyone else, maybe, but not Hanzo. 

 

“Just—“ Hanzo’s fingers tangle in Jesse’s hair, his lips press hard and fast against Jesse’s temple. “Tell me. Warn me. Don’t—“ He lets out a sound halfway between a grunt and a sob, and Jesse squeezes him closer.  “Don’t disappear.” 

 

“Alright.” Jesse breathes, and means it, kisses his way from Hanzo’s throat to his cheek to his lips, reaches up to cradle that handsome face between his hands. “Alright, darlin’, I promise.” 

 

It’s not much, but it’s enough. 

 

 

—

 

 

“ _You’re still waiting for it to disappear.” Gabe’s voice startles him, and he whips his head around to look over this shoulder. His commander stands behind him, leaning against the wall on the outer balcony, head tilted toward the stars. It’s been eight years since Jesse joined Blackwatch, eight years since he met Jack and Gabriel._

_“What?” He asks, genuinely dumbfounded, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, gestures at the building behind him with a sweeping hand._

_“This. Us. Blackwatch, Overwatch, me and Jack.” He shakes his head. “I can see it, Jesse. I’ve known you since you were seventeen. I know when you’re brooding.” Jesse ducks his head, looks at the ground._

_“It’s not—“ He breaks off, rubs a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t trust you to stick around, it’s just—I know—“ He pauses, collects his thoughts. “I know when I got here, you and Jack agreed to—to raise me, like your own.” Biting his lip, Jesse swallows down the lump forming in his throat and looks at Gabriel. “And you’ve done an amazing job, I’m a better man now than I ever could have been without you.” Gabe inclines his head as if to accept the hat of responsibility, and Jesse continues. “But—I’m getting older, now. I’m not a kid, anymore, and I know Jack’s got bigger fish to fry than being a parent to a twenty-five year old man—"_

_“You’re an idiot if you think he doesn’t love you.” Gabe cuts him off, voice matter-of-fact, face open and honest. Jesse stares at him for a minute, considers this. He opens his mouth to speak, but another voice breaks the silence as the door to the patio opens._

_“Guys, come on, my cooking can’t be_ **this** _bad.” He can’t help the grin that twitches over his face as he turns to find Jack standing behind them wearing an apron that reads ‘miss the cook’ with a scope printed over one of the O’s, brandishing a wooden spoon covered in some gelatinous red substance._

_“It definitely, definitely is, but we didn’t know you were cooking tonight.” Gabe replies, easily, pushing off the wall and padding over to kiss Jack’s cheek. “Figured you might be too_ **busy** _.” He emphasizes the last word, something wordless passing between them that Jesse can’t quite track, and then Jack’s grabbing him by the back of his serape and hauling him up, throwing an arm around his shoulders and dragging him toward the kitchen._

_“C’mon, son. I made spaghetti.”_

_“Did you, dad?” Jesse asks, fighting back the warm feeling that’s blooming in his chest and poking at the substance cemented to the spoon. “Cause it kinda looks like you made acrylic paint.”_

_The three of them continue on, laughing, into the kitchen, and Jesse thinks maybe Gabe was right. Maybe he is an idiot._

 

—

 

_"Jesse!"_

 

There’s snow beneath his knees and a ringing in his ears, and he watches with wide eyes as Hanzo is dragged away from him, kicking and roaring like an animal, tears pouring out of eyes so brown they could be black in the darkness, and why is Hanzo crying, Hanzo shouldn’t cry. 

 

“Hanzo—“ He starts, wants to comfort him, wants to tell him it’ll be fine, that Jesse’ll never let anything happen to him, that he’d die in a heartbeat before he let Talon do to him what they did to Ameile—

 

He hears the shot ring out. He hears Hanzo scream. He feels the ground as it rises up to meet him, catching him against the soft drifts of snow, and he needs to get up, needs to keep moving, but he _can’t._ The snow is suffocating him and he can’t move, can’t _breathe._ There’s something warm and wet trickling down the side of his head, matting down his hair, but he’s too delirious to figure out what. He needs to get up, needs to _run_ , needs to get to Hanzo before Talon can hurt him, but he just…can’t. Hanzo’s voice is getting farther away, the sounds of the agents that had been tracking them are growing faint, until eventually, it’s only the wind, and the silence, and the blood dripping onto the ground. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, immobile, freezing but also overheating, begging his body to just fucking _move_ but unable to force it to do so. He thinks he would be crying if the cold didn’t freeze the tears before they could leave his eyes. He’s going to die here, he’s going to disappear just like he promised Hanzo he wouldn’t, he’s--

 

Crunching in the snow, footsteps approaching, hands, gentle hands, turning him over, cupping his cheek. Golden light which spills out over his body and warms every inch of him, every crevice. 

 

“Jesse,” That voice, he knows that voice, “Look at me, son, come on.” A mask. A visor. No face, just metal, but then one of the hands moves up and touches something, and the visor falls away. Blue eyes, blue like high noon and oceans in the sun, furrowed eyebrows. “Jesse, please.” 

 

He’s forty eight years old and he thinks he’s never felt so small, like a child as he’s gathered up in strong arms, head lolling against glowing armor. Those arms pull him closer, those eyes are looking into his, that voice is speaking to him, gentler than he’s ever heard it before. 

 

“I’ve got you, son.” There’s nothing but white all around them, nothing but the darkness and the blizzard and the cold, but he feels safe, somehow, nonetheless. “You’re gonna be alright.” 

 

Jesse sinks back into sleep, the name on the tip of his tongue, resting on waiting lips. 

 

—

 

_He never says goodbye._

_He watches Gabe change for seven years, watches the man he came to know as Gabriel Reyes morph into something else, something bitter, something cruel, but it’s easy to miss, easy not to read the signs, especially for Jesse. Especially with Gabe._

_He should have known in Rialto, when the plan was to get information and Gabe shot Baratolli instead. He should have known the second he put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder and received only a cold stare in response that something was wrong. He should have known in the debriefs, when Gabe’s face didn’t change, didn’t waver, not for one moment as Jack begged him to explain._

_But he doesn’t. He doesn’t until years later, until after King’s Row, until Blackwatch gets suspended and he sits on Gabe’s bed with his head in his hands listening to him rant about Jack._

_“He’s planning something, I can tell. He thinks I can’t, but he’s wrong.” Gabe’s furious, pacing around the room, angry and blazing and paranoid and nothing like the man he was ten years ago. “He’s trying to lock me out.”_

_“Gabe—“ Jesse starts, but Gabriel keeps going, talks over him._

_“He thinks he’s hot shit. Jack Morrison, founder of Overwatch.” He huffs out some bitter shadow of a laugh and Jesse feels his stomach start to sink. “Asshole thinks he can control me, control_ **us** _.”_

_“Gabe, that’s not true.” He knows his voice is pleading, desperate, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care if he sounds twenty instead of thirty-one. He cares that Gabe listens. “You know it’s not true, he loves—“_

_“_ **Don’t.** _” Gabe spits, rounding on Jesse, eyes wild and full of fire, teeth all but bared. “Don’t fucking say it. If he loved me, if he loved_ **you** _, this shit wouldn’t be happening.” He shakes his head, rips off his beanie and tosses it onto the dresser. “He could have stopped the U.N., he could have fought for us, but he_ **_didn’t_ ** _, Jesse."_

_“If there were something to be done, Jack would have done it.” Jesse insists, refuses to back down, even with his father staring daggers down at him. “He’s—he’s_ **Jack** _. He’d do anything for us, he_ **loves** _us.” He manages to get it out this time, curls the fingers of his metal hand into a fist where Gabriel can’t see them, sets his shoulders back and his chin up high and waits for Gabe’s response, but he doesn’t get what he wants._

_"There’s a reason he got that promotion over me, there’s a reason he’s_ **Commander** _John Francis Morrison, now. And it’s not because he couldn’t keep it from happening.”_

_Gabriel looks at him for a long moment, anger and pity seeming to mix on his face as he does, and shakes his head._

_“You’re an idiot if you think he loves you.”_

_Jesse walks out of that room and doesn’t come back, and doesn’t regret it until five years later when the ad spaces of Manhattan are taken over by tragedy._

_Maybe he is an idiot after all._

_—_

He wakes up with Angela hovering over him and what sounds like Genji and Winston spitting bullets at one another from across medical. It comes back in pieces, the snow, the net, the bullet, and—

“Jack?” He hates how  _young_ he sounds, how vulnerable, but he can’t help it, can’t help the thread of hope that rises in him as Angela’s face softens, as she steps aside to reveal Jack Morrison standing behind her, helmet off. He’s older, now, grey instead of blonde, and scarred to hell and back, ripples of white that cut across his handsome features like knives, but that doesn’t change a thing as Jesse scrambles out of the bed, ignoring Angela’s pleas for rest, ignoring the pain his head and the shiver in his veins. He throws himself at the man, a sob catching in his throat as his eyes begin to prickle with tears, as his weight is caught by strong, steady arms. “ _Jack—_ “

 _Dad_.

“I’m here.” Jack holds him close, cradles Jesse’s head against his broad chest, half flesh, half metal fingers burying deep in his hair. “I’m here, son, I’m right here.” 

“Where—“ Jesse’s breathing shallow, feels the panic rising in his chest in spite of the bone-deep relief at seeing Jack again. “Where  _were you_?” 

“I’m sorry.” Jack’s voice is strained, rough, his hands are shaking where they’re holding Jesse, crushingly tight, furiously tight. “I thought—I didn’t think you’d want me to come back.” Jesse whips back to look at him, at the best father figure he’s ever had, incredulous. 

“You  _what_?” He grips the front of Jack’s armor, fingers white knuckled around the rim of his breastplate. 

“It was my fault—Gabe, everything, I should have—I should have stopped it sooner, and when you left—“ He breaks off, looks down at the ground, uncharacteristic of everything Jesse has known Jack to be. “You—you didn’t say goodbye, Jesse. You never said goodbye, I thought—“ He swallows, thickly. “I thought that was it, that whatever Gabe said to you that day meant you didn’t…” Trailing into silence, Jack allows his arms to drop to his sides, shame rolling off him in waves, and Jesse feels something inside him snap. 

“I left  _because_ of Gabe.” He hisses, dragging Jack closer, close enough to hear him over Genji and Winston’s argument, close enough only Jack can understand him. “I left because he wasn’t—the same, anymore, he wasn’t—“  _He wasn’t my father anymore_. The look in Jack’s eyes says he gets it, the desperate way he pulls Jesse back into his embrace, crushing him against his chest, tells him his point has gotten across. “It wasn’t you.” Jesse manages, throat tight. "It was never you.”

 

“I hate to break this up.” Genji’s tone is detached and irate but Jesse knows him well enough to tell that he’s truly feeling some remorse. “But my brother has been kidnapped by Talon and every moment he’s with them may be a moment too late.” Fear and fury, cold and hot as ice and lava, wash over Jesse as it comes back to him; the snow, the net, the gun, what brought them here, where Jack found him, where Hanzo _is_. 

 

“We have to go.” He breathes, determination welling up in his gut. “We have to find him.” Jack nods, lets him go but keeps a hand firmly clamped on his shoulder, steadying, grounding.

 

“We will.” He says, voice even and firm, and despite the anxiety that threatens to crush him at Hanzo’s absence, Jesse believes him. 

 

He is, after all, Commander John Francis Morrison. 


End file.
